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"Can you speak French?" I ask him.
"Yes. Can you?"
"A little. I know the basic stuff like oui, bonjour, croissant, baguette. Also, j'veux ton amour, et je veux ta revanche."
He stops in his tracks and looks at my mouth. No, he 𝘴𝘵�...
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I love calling people babes and sweetie.
I call them that when they're my friend, but I also say it to the people I hate.
For some reason, it rubs them the wrong way.
I saw this question and it said, 'How many toddlers would you be able to get attacked by before you get taken down?'
My answer is four or five. Five at the absolute most. Two at the least.
I mean, it completely depends on the child. Are they crazy? Or are they calm?
Most toddlers are insane, so that's why my answer is such a small amount.
I'm in the middle of baking brownies.
Now, let me be clear. Baking is not at all my specialty. Frankie is the baker of the family. She's amazing at it.
Me and any type of making food do not mix. At all.
But I was bored and wanted to try something new, so here we are.
I carefully pour the brownie mix into the tray. It nearly goes everywhere but thankfully, I manage to save most of it.
I may have also accidentally put in too much flour and not enough butter but it's fine.
Once it's all in the tray, I jiggle it gently, wanting it all even.
This doesn't work well and a bit of the brownie mix splats onto the floor, making me grimace.
It's okay. It's fine.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
I clean up the mess on the kitchen floor and look at the tray. I haven't lost too much, thank god.
I place the tray in the oven, Frankie's oven mitts on my hands, making me look a tiny bit ridiculous but that's okay.
I already look ridiculous wearing pink fluffy slippers and a unicorn onesie that's two sizes too big.
I go to start a timer but realize I don't know how long they need to be in for. I already lost the recipe I was using on my phone because I googled the heights of Tom Holland and Zendaya.
Why? I have no idea.
I guess I just wanted to see their exact height difference.
